Lisa Gomes-da-Cabral stepped onto the expansive deck
rusting iron hull of the ship. The blast of salty air mixed with
pungent industrial fumes assaulted her olfactory senses. She gazed at
the activities around her. The Stigmata's monolithic smokestacks were
still belching out steam, while machines and technicians of all sorts
scurried around the kilometer long flight deck. Several zeppelins
were landing, depositing materials from the onshore trading outposts,
and several combat gyros were landing from their air patrol routes.
One of them landed a few dozen meters from her, and the machine's
engine blasted steam out of the screw-propellers mounted on both
wings.

Out past the flight deck, Lisa could see the endless
expanse of blue that unfurled in all directions. Lisa had the urge to
look over the edge of the deck, but quickly dismissed it. There was
safety nets installed on many rim areas, but she did not want to test
it. Besides, the only things to see under the sides would be the
flotilla of houseboats, transport barges, factory ships, and fishing
ships that were dependant on the Stigmata for protection. The
overall Cabral Drift was a maritime city unto itself, and that did
not count the network of automated undersea mines that provided the
Drift above with raw materials.

The transport and salvage submersibles would dock in
special ports off to the side and the bottom of the Stigmata, each
giving the Drift presents of raw ore from the ocean floor, awaiting
delivery to the refinery and factory ships for additional processing.
Lisa looked away from the supporting flotilla and further out to sea.
Lisa turned to get a view in all of the cardinal directions. The
eternal blue ribbon wrapped around the horizon in all
three-hundred-sixty degrees, interrupted only by the massive
smokestacks of the Stigmata and the factory ships.

The Stigmata itself dated back long before
written history, to the days of the Latini Imperium. The ship's
thaumechanical negation engine had stopped working, but a jury-rigged
series of steam engines had filled the vessel's power requirements
quite nicely. Such was the general rule among Drifters: Where Latini
thaumechanics failed, use simpler steam and clockwork. Of course,
Lisa doubted anyone alive today understood the original engine that
had once powered the Stigmata. Of course, the Xianese and the
Necropolitian League might have some idea, but they weren't saying
anything. Both nations stuck to their secrets like the Drifters stuck
to their flotilla-cities.

Looking at the sky, Lisa noted it the setting sun.
Looking at her pocket watch, it was clear that the Contest would be
starting soon. She was already prepared for it. She had dressed in
her athletic wear, which exposed her tanned, muscular torso and legs
to the twilight dusk sky. She moved to a white circle painted on the
rusting red carrier deck, and sat inside. Within a few minutes,
others began to show up. It was quite obvious they were spectators,
as they did not step inside the circle. This Contest would be a quick
one, as only a few spectators had gathered.

Out of tradition, one did not know who their opponent
would be until each round of the Contest started. The goal was to
tap-out or submit your opponent as fast as possible, but broken arms
and legs were not unknown. If one did not know the opponent, one
would be forced to improvise more. Normally, matches would be decided
by the Drift's league Coach, and told only to both contestants
shortly before the match. Soon enough, two familiar faces arrived.
Her brother Helio appeared next to the Coach, Royce Valente da
Cabral.

Royce began to explain the rules and expectations to
the spectators, as was the standard pre-Contest requirements. The
victor of the Contest would be allowed to bed any of the spectators
they choose, with their permission, of course. Most Drifters would be
honored to be chosen, but a few neophytes and foreign tourists may be
unfamiliar with the practice. Of course, people could refuse, and
just enjoy the show. Of course, the Rewards system was one way of
ensuring passionate audience interaction and following.

That was how Lisa got involved, after all. She was
once a spectator when her brother selected her as one. While many of
the foreign tourists were shocked at the apparent lack of incest
taboo, it only extended around the Contest's circle, and not into
many other places in society. Since then, she had made it her quest
to finally surpass Helio. She had learned from him, from Royce, and
from several other Contestants for several years. Lisa did a quick
skim of the audience. There was a fair-skinned young boy with
mechanic's goggles, various tools, and a rotolock pistol on his
belt, likely an Eirean mechanist. There was an elderly Xianese man,
who was apparently a tourist. There was a few of her friends, and her
brother's friends also nearby, who she had known for years. She
turned her attention to Helio, who had just entered the ring.

Lisa quickly put thoughts of Reward selection out of
her mind for now. She first had to figure out a way to defeat her
brother, Helio. She was more of a striker, while her massive brother
was more of a grappler. It was only logical he would use his massive
size to submit his smaller sister. That's how he normally tried it
in most of his sparring matches. The Coach ordered them both to
begin, and blew his whistle.

Helio and Lisa began to circle each other, and then
Helio acted first. He dropped down and went to grab Lisa's hips, in
an attempt to force her to the ground with his massive size. Either
he was being stupid, or being nice. Lisa instinctively backed up,
yanked his shoulders down, and raised her left kneecap to meet her
brother's head. Her brother exhaled his humid breath with a grunt
of pain. A quick sniff revealed to Lisa why her older brother was
fighting so brazenly simplistic. It was the telltale smell of alcohol
on his breath. He had likely joined his friends for one too many
beers on one of the ship's taverns before the Contest.

It would be best to end the fight now, before her
brother acted too rashly. A quick sidestep, followed by a hip-toss,
thrust her brother to the ground in a prone position. She grabbed his
arm, positioned her legs over his windpipe and head, turned to the
side, and began to apply pressure to the straightened forearm and
elbow. This created the basic arm-bar, a favorite submission move
that Helio had used on her a countless number of times. There was
always the risk he could try to resist, which could work for a person
of Helio's size, but apparently, all he could do now was grunt.
While he was drunk, he retained enough common sense to tap. After
all, Lisa did not want to break her brother's elbow needlessly.

Lisa released her brother, and alerted the Coach to
his drunken state. The Coach took Helio away and would likely
chastise him later. For now, Royce raised her arm, and the spectators
began to cheer. Lisa pointed to the Eirean machinist, and he stood
up, unsure of how to act. Apparently, he had no qualms on being the
Reward, and followed Lisa down to her chamber in the bowels of the
ship for the night. While she had won one Contest, Lisa knew there
was always more. She would normally be a marine guard on the Drift,
but she would always be a Contestant at heart. Rewarded or not, the
Contest was always a great distraction. And it was fun.

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